The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto
by silver ruffian
Summary: To paraphrase Kim Manners on the Supernatural DVD, “If they were dogs, Jensen Dean would be Rin Tin Tin, and Jared Sam would be Pluto.” They're dogs in this one, people.
1. Chapter 1: Dog Pound Lock Down

The original title was too long for fanfiction so I had to shorten it. The original title's down below. Proceed at your own risk.

Pairings: Sam/Dean (Very, very mild)

Disclaimer: Don't own 'em, darn it.

Timeline: pre-Pilot (Could be the reason why Sam left for Stanford in the first place)

Spoilers: None

Warnings: No human cussing, no violence; they're just so doggoned **cute**.

Summary: To paraphrase Kim Manners on the Supernatural DVD, "If they were dogs, Jensen (Dean) would be Rin Tin Tin, and Jared (Sam) would be Pluto."

I'm blaming the people who are reading my multi chap story, **Dog Eat Dog**. Some of y'all freaked out when you thought that one was going to be the Supernatural version of "The Shaggy Dog." It's not. You guys gave me the idea for this. That damn plot bunny wouldn't leave me alone, so I've decided to unleash this fic on an unsuspecting world.

I blame you guys and Kim Manners.

This is not my fault.

Really.

**The One Time Only, Hopefully Never to Be Repeated Adventure of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto**

**by silver ruffian**

_**One**_

It was like taking candy from a moron. Dean went around in circles with the tennis ball on a rope in his mouth, and when he let go and the ball went flying that big damn stupid boxer took off running after it. Dean strolled over, picked up the bone with his mouth and trotted off in the opposite direction. He held his head high, and the way he carried his tail, like a flag, told everyone that he was happy. Alpha male happy.

There was still a lot of meat on the bone, and the smell made his mouth water. He wanted to just sit down and start gnawing on the damn thing, but he couldn't. He tried not to slobber too much on it, either. Sam was liable to be pissy about stuff like that.

Sam didn't move, not even when Dean walked up right next to him, opened his mouth and dropped the bone on the ground right next to his nose. One long floppy black ear lay over Sam's right eye. He let it stay there. He felt too screwed up, too weirded out to move.

C'_mon, dude, you gotta eat something._

_I don't wanna._

Dean shrugged. _Well, what can I say, Sammy. This is a crazy gig. It'll be all right._

Sam felt like biting him. _It'll be all right_. _It'll be all right_. _How the hell did you come to that conclusion? We've been turned into dogs, Dean. That witch snuck up behind us as we were laying in wait for her, and she zapped us. Then this hillbilly dogcatcher grabs us and sticks us in this pen with these other mutts. I look like Mickey Mouse's damn dog -_

_Pluto, _Dean thought calmly

Sam glared at him.

_What? _Dean cocked that handsome head of his to one side_. Dude, that's his name---_

_And you look like Rin Tin Tin. You mind telling me how this is going to be all right?_

Dean shrugged. Dean in his heroic looking, deep chested German shepherd dog skin looked pretty much the way Dean in his compact, muscular human skin did.

Drop dead gorgeous.

Dean still had those impossibly long eyelashes, for God's sake. Sam wondered if the reason why he was really acting so pissy was because Dean's looks translated. He still looked spectacular, no matter what. _Why the hell can't I get that for once_, Sam thought moodily, and then he tried not to think about it.

_Dad's still out there. _Dean sat down, closed his eyes and scratched behind his right ear. Then he smelled his foot and licked it._ She didn't get him. Dad'll find us._

_Will you listen to yourself? You think Dad's gonna know this is us? For all you know that witch already nailed Dad. That Rottweiler mix over there could be Dad!_

_He's not. I already checked._

_You already---Dean, wait a minute…you…you sniffed his butt?_

Another shrug of those still manly shoulders._ Hey, when in Rome, dude._

_**Two**_

The first day Dean made the rounds, did recon on the pen and the occupants thereof. His reasoning was that even though he was sure that Dad was coming to get them, and they wouldn't be there too long anyway, there was no sense in making themselves miserable, and it helped to know the lay of the land. Dean was at home in holding cells, cheap motel rooms, anywhere. Sam knew his big brother was adaptable, but damn, this was ridiculous.

After half an hour Dean came back, grinning wolfishly. _Okay. First off, there aren't any girls in here. Skippy over there -- _and Dean jerked his head in the direction of a weird looking beagle mix --_ said he thinks that's because old Jim Bob makes a living selling strays he picks up to medical labs, and he does a little dog fighting on the side, so hell yeah, we might have to bail before Dad gets here._

At the mention of John Winchester Sam didn't move, just stared rather coldly at Dean.

Dean caught the look, and bristled. _Hey, this isn't Dad's fault. Come to think of it, we do have a bitch in here, and it's you. Knock it off, Sammy. _

Sam kept right on staring.

_Anyway,_ _I think you're gonna like this next part. I asked some of the others about the food. They said Carrie-Anne is in charge of the grub here. That's Jim-Bob's wife. She mixes cooked meat and vegetables in with the dry food. Well, you wanted a home cooked meal, Sammy, and now I think you got one._ Sam stared in disbelief as Dean practically did a happy dance. Then his idiot older brother noticed the look and stopped, puzzled, ears pricked.

_What?_

_Dude. You do realize that you're dancing in place, practically drooling all over yourself, because you're about to eat horse meat, pig entrails, and God knows what else?_

_Whatever, _Dean sniffed. Sam could tell his feelings were hurt, but Sam didn't care.

When he saw her later on that afternoon Sam thought Carol-Anne wasn't exactly Dean's type. Then Sam realized that Dean's type was female, with a pulse. She was a little plumper, a little older, a little rounder than some of the women Dean had, ah, dated, but she had long wavy brown hair and a round moon face with kind eyes. Sam had to admit it could've been worse. If she had come over to the fence with a meat cleaver in one hand staring at them hungrily he would've started digging thru that reinforced fence, no matter what.

She practically squealed when she saw Dean."Oh, my. Aren't you a big, handsome fella! Aren't 'cha? Aren't 'cha?" Dean sat down on her foot, put his head back, and grinned as she scratched him under his chin, all over his head, between his ears and down his chest. Damn, that woman had some talented fingers. His left hind leg started thumping and he couldn't stop it. He didn't close his eyes, though. He had a good (upside down) view of her heaving bosom. He was happy, and Dean Jr. got happy, too. It was win-win for everyone involved.

Hey, he was a dog, all right? Cut the kid some slack.

Sam had to admit the food wasn't bad. He picked out the vegetables and the baked chicken and left that other stuff in the bottom of the pan. He ended up getting growled at by this bossy little blonde cocker spaniel who thought he ran the place. Sam really didn't want to kill the little sumbitch, so he went and laid back down under the tree. A few fights broke out among the others, nothing really spectacular. He didn't see Dean anywhere.

He was half asleep when Dean padded over ten minutes later.

_Dude. Here._ Dean opened his mouth and a couple of big pork chops hit the dirt next to Sam's nose. Sam jerked his head up and stared.

_Well? _Dean tilted his head at his brother.He looked around and saw that damn cocker spaniel easing up on them. Dean bared his teeth at him, and the little bastard backed up._ You better eat that. It ain't getting any fresher, Gilligan. _

Sam held the first pork chop between his paws, took a big bite out of it, and sighed, deep inside. He closed his eyes. At last. Food. Real, honest to God food. He could taste the seasonings. It was cooked, well done, not raw._ Where'd you get this?_

Dean sat there grinning smugly. _Carol-Anne. Hey, what can I say? She likes me. I got 'em for you._

Sam had to admit, he had a good big brother.

_**Three**_

Later on that afternoon Sam got that splinter in his forehead when he was nosing around the fence. It was no good to dig under because apparently one day Jim-Bob was feeling industrious and he put the fencing six feet under. Sam pushed his forehead against the wooden planks at the bottom, and he let out a yelp when he felt something pierce his skin.

Dean came from nowhere.

_Hold still, pipsqueak._ Dean sat down, right in Sam's personal space, and he put his paw on Sam's neck. Dean bared his teeth, then very, very gently mouthed the splinter and pulled it out. It was a big ass splinter, almost as big as a tooth pick.

Sam yipped like a puppy. Dean spat the damn thing out and started licking Sam's forehead. Sam had a weird moment in which he realized that Dean was licking his face with his tongue, long slow strokes, and it felt good. Damn good. Toe curlingly (and is that even a _word_?) good.

Sam Jr. woke up.

Then Sam realized that even though they were brothers this was an unusual situation and they were both dogs and none of this counted, so there.

And yeah, one thing led to another and then there was that whole balls licking thing….

It was all good.

Dean sat there afterwards, staring off in the distance, looking, well, damned heroic.

He should have been saving orphans from a burning building, pulling a stranded traveler from a snowdrift somewhere….

_I miss my leather jacket_, Dean thought wistfully, and he yelped and twisted around when Sam came up behind him and nipped him on the butt. _Hey, dude, what the hell---_

Sam flopped down on his back, perked his ears up and waggled his eyebrows at his brother.

_Deann, I think I got another splinter…_

_**Four**_

The newest mutt in the pen was a huge son of a bitch. He must've weighed about one sixty, easy, and he was some kind of Saint Bernard, mastiff, and God knows what else mix. He padded over and sat down heavily in front of Sam and Dean. His jowls swung back and forth, and he slobbered like a leaky faucet. He stared at Dean with sunken dark eyes.

_You pretty._

Dean drew back_. Yikes. _

_You wanna be my friend?_

_Uh, do I have to **do** anything to be your friend?_

_You pretty._

After that Dean slept with his ass backed up against the tree.

Sam laughed like hell.

Dean growled at him.

_**Five **_

That damn cat showed up the next day.

It was a big barrel chested Persian cat, and it slunk along the top of the fence yowling and cussing. Some of the dogs ignored it. Some of them went crazy as they jumped up and tried to kill it.

Enough of those idiots kept throwing themselves against the fence, and sure enough, pretty soon that section of the fence came tumbling down.

Make a break for it? Nobody had to tell Dean and Sam twice.

They were about one hundred feet from the fence, running full-out into the woods, with Dean bringing up the rear, ready to bite or body slam any human who tried to stop them (except, of course, Carol-Anne) when they heard a familiar gravel-voiced rumble inside their heads that made them both stop short.

_Boys?_

That large black Persian cat strolled out of the underbrush. It had a little gray around its muzzle. The tip of one ear was chewed off, and it looked somehow grumpy, yet fully in charge. The skin around its eyes crinkled slightly and it seemed to be smiling at them.

Dean's ears were perked up higher than usual, and Sam didn't think that was possible.

_Dad?_

John sat down, started to lick his paw and swipe it over his face, then obviously thought better of it.

_Dean, you take point,_ John rumbled._ We'll head for Bobby Singer's place._

_Dad, that's two states over! _Sam protested.

The look Dean shot at him said it all: _Shut your cakehole. Dad's here!_

_Dean was already at attention, practically vibrating with excitement. _

_Picture perfect bastard, Sam thought as he walked over to stand next to his brother. _

_Dean looked smug. _

_I'm the good son, _Dean thought proudly_. That's why I get the extra cookie._

_You mean dog biscuit, _Sam muttered.

_Sam, _John grumbled,_ not another word. _

_-Finis-_


	2. Chapter 2: Homeward Bound

A/N: This is not my fault. I was egged on by every one who gave me good reviews on the first story, and here they are: Nilah, nyxlilly, DarkMind1, Ciya, Hazgarn, Poaetpainter, Trish62, teal-lover, lime juize, irish girl19, Valtira, and last, but certainly not least, SciFiNutTX.

And……and I blame Kim Manners.

Yeah, that's it.

Blame them, not me.

Type: Pre-series Crack fic. There. I said it. Continuation of The One Time Only, Hopefully Never To Be Repeated Adventures of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto AKA The Adventures of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto.

Spoilers: Crossroad Blues

Warnings (this installment): weirdness, violence, some animal cussing, very mild animal sex, big-bosomed women, and Fancy Feast cat food

Pairings (this installment): John/OFC; Dean/OFC (whether or not Sammy gets some in this series depends on how depraved I can get.)

Timeline: pre-Pilot. Yes, this is the**_ real_** reason why Sam left for Stanford. Can you blame him?

Summary: Kim Manners said it in the Supernatural DVD: "If they were dogs, Jensen (Dean) would be Rin Tin Tin, and Jared (Sam) would be Pluto."

**Homeward Bound: The Further Incredible Adventures of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto**

**By silver ruffian**

**Chapter 2: On The Road Again**

_**One**_

_Sam!_

Yeah, it was just like his idiot brother. Sam knew he'd come running back. Probably being chased by some irate farmer or rancher and his dog pack. Sam stood there on the hill, on the edge of the woods, and he had to admit that Dean was graceful as hell running flat out, his ears laid back, legs almost a blur.

_Sam!_

Ten minutes ago Dean was his usual smug, insufferable movie handsome self, even while trapped inside Rin Tin Tin's body._ I know what I'm doing, Sam. Watch and learn, grasshopper._

Sam scoffed. Oh, he was learning, all right. Dean was being chased by a red faced convenience store clerk waving a rifle. The dude was panting and looked like he was about one step away from a coronary infarction, but adrenaline was obviously a factor. He was right on Dean's ass, and despite the fact that Dean had four legs to his two, Dean couldn't shake him.

Dean had made quite a name for himself along the interstate in the two weeks they'd been on the road. He was known as a rogue, an outlaw, the kind of dog who could slip into a convenience store or supermarket and seriously impact the store's profit margin if you gave him half the chance. The story was that he knew how to open doors with his paws, and he could somehow stuff three deli sandwiches in his mouth with no problem, take off running and be out the door before the clerk could make a move on him.

One time Dean entered one of those mini-marts, held a basket by the handles in his mouth and quietly padded over to the deli section. He picked up six deli sandwiches with his mouth, dropped them into the basket, and afterwards he snuck out with the basket while the pimply-faced counter clerk was on his cell phone bitching about how lousy his job was.

Dean didn't target anything in cans. Right now their situation sucked, no doubt about it. It was _Look Ma, no hands_, so he went for anything in paper or plastic that could be torn open. If there was a way to open a tin can with teeth and paws Dean really didn't want to hear about it.

Yeah, they needed food, and Sam wasn't that thrilled about the idea of eating raw rabbit or opossum, but the thing of it was Dad did nothing but encourage Dean in his recklessness. Sam was sure there was a statewide BOLO on the three of them, or out on Dean at the very least.

The last hunt had gone south quick, fast and in a hurry. That damn witch they were hunting turned Sam and Dean into dogs, and apparently she nailed John Winchester too, turned him into a cat after she nailed the boys. They'd survived the horrors of the dog pen, and now they were two states over from Bobby Singer's place.

If they were ever caught, Sam was pretty sure that Dean would probably end up adopted by some loving family with two point five kids. After all, Dean knew how he looked, and he wasn't the least bit shy about using it, either. John Winchester was currently occupying the body of a handsome black Persian cat; he too was highly adoptable. And as for Sam, well, he looked like the live action version of Pluto, Mickey Mouse's dog, and Sam was pretty sure those kind of dogs didn't get any breaks, adoption-wise.

Sam usually didn't curse, usually didn't call women (even witches) bitches, but in her case he made an exception.

Huh. Sam sat there, entranced, his thin whip like tail waving back and forth in the air.

His long floppy ears perked up a little, and he cocked his head to one side. He was able to pick up images of what happened inside the store from his brother's mind. It had been a disaster, a total disaster from start to finish. The outer doors stuck, and the sandwich case had this clear hard plastic barrier on it. The clerk kept a fully loaded rifle under the counter.

And that fat bastard could run, too.

Dean glanced backwards –for a minute he was actually running sideways --- and when he saw the guy was gaining on him Sam could actually hear Dean mutter -- _Son of a bitch_-- then:

_Don't just stand there, dumbass! Run!_

Sam turned and ran just as the clerk stopped, aimed and fired a round that kicked up the grass at Dean's heels. Dean ran a zigzag pattern and bounded up the hill. The clerk fired another round that blew bark off one of the trees as Sam flashed past it into the woods.

Five minutes later they were breathless and hunkering down behind a large tree that had fallen down during one of the recent spring storms. Sam could swear that the birds wheeling overhead in the bright blue sky were laughing their asses off at them.

_Did – did we lose him?_ Dean panted.

_You were gonna show me how it's done, oh wise and wonderful devil dog of the open road. I'm still waiting,_ Sam smirked.

Dean grinned._ Well, sometimes the magic works, Sammy, and sometimes it doesn't._

Sam stared at him. _They don't have sarcasm on your planet, do they?_

_You know what they say…_Dean got to his feet, shook himself, and cautiously peered over the tree trunk._ If at first you don't succeed---_

_Keep on going until you get shot to death by an irate convenience store clerk? _Sam said with an innocent grin.

Dean stared at him banefully._ Ha Friggin' Ha. That was so funny I forgot to laugh. __It's nearly noon, dude, and we still gotta eat. Besides, I gotta get Dad his tuna._

_Tuna? _Sam's brow wrinkled up in a frown._ Dad doesn't like tuna._

Dean turned away and trotted back towards the highway._ He does now._

_**Two**_

Five blocks away John Winchester purred. He kneaded her large comfortable thigh. The fingers on that woman…it had been a long long time since John had been touched like that. She knew just which spots to hit, and by God she wasn't shy about it, either. He stretched his neck out, purring, and she ran her fingers under his chin, all the way down to his chest. He turned over on his side, stretched out on the ground, and purred so loudly he damn near vibrated.

His senses had been dulled by the plate of chicken and beef Fancy Feast gourmet cat food he'd discovered out there on the grass. He was doing a recon of the neighborhood, damn it, it wasn't supposed to go like this! He had no problem leaving his boys behind to gather food. Dean needed to burn off some of that excess energy of his, and Sam, well, he was broody. In other words, Sam was just being Sam.

Her fingers stroked his back, massaged and kneaded that spot down at the base of his tail, on his back, and John could feel his entire body loosen up.

He could have clawed her; it never occurred to him.

Her fingers were magical. His paws curled inwards with each stroke.

It was enough to make him forget, forget nearly everything.

He didn't struggle as she picked him up gently and carried him into the house. Her bosom was large, soft and inviting. It had been a while since he'd nestled up against something so warm and nice. She smiled at him and she hit that spot under his chin again, long smooth strokes.

John felt his brain cells turn to jelly.

**Three**

Twenty minutes later Dean lay on his back in the grass. A slow lazy grin spread across his muzzle, and he thoroughly enjoyed the way the gentle breeze ruffled his fur. His belly was full, thanks to a quick in and out grab in the sandwich section and run like hell out the door at the market down the highway.

As fucked up as that other gig went, this one went smooth. He was in and out before anyone knew what was up, and that place had automatic sliding doors instead of the kind you had to push. Sweet. One of the staff was pushing carts in from the parking lot and he yelled at Dean as he streaked past, his mouth full of deli goodness.

_Hey, buddy, that's what insurance is for, acts of God and dog_ (damned clever, Dean thought) _so get over it, shopping cart boy._ He'd grabbed two large deli sandwiches for him and Sam, and a tuna sandwich for Dad.

Sam was off somewhere doing God only knew what, either taking a leak or, more likely, talking to butterflies or counseling field mice or some other damn girly thing. Dad was doing recon on the neighborhood. He'd told Dean to gather food, and then to stay put, so Dean stayed put.

His family was with him. At the moment, life was good.

Well, if you could ignore that whole getting turned into dogs and cat thing…

Right now Dean was dreaming of that pretty little collie shepherd bitch he met right outside Calumet City. Ah, she was something, brought a whole new meaning to the phrase "doggy style" that Dean could appreciate.

Hey, he's a dog in this one, remember?

He had just gotten to the part where he'd followed her behind some bushes when he felt something staring at him. He opened his eyes, and about six inches away from his nose sat a chipmunk.

A small, weird looking chipmunk.

Huh. It stared at him, twitching, and Dean stared back, his head slightly cocked to one side. Since he was way bigger than the chipmunk he figured the damn thing would get the hint and leave, but no. The next thing Dean knew it threw itself on his muzzle and he could feel its paws pulling at his lips as it tried to pull his mouth open.

"Eat me!" It squeaked. "Eat me!"

_What the fuck---_ Dean threw himself backwards, legs scrambling all over the place in an awkward tangle. He tried to spit it out. He started gagging and grubby little chipmunk fingers clutched at his teeth, gums and tongue (no telling where _those_ digits had been), and that was enough to make Dean start gagging all over again.

A demon possessed chipmunk, that was it. Had to be. Out of all these wide open spaces he had to pick this one to take a nap, and this damn thing found him.

_Sam, where the fuck was Sam? Dad---_

Just then Sam padded up. He took one look at Dean and shook his head. Those long black floppy ears of his flapped around from side to side.

_Dude._

Dean swung around wildly at the sound of his brother's voice inside his head. Dean's jaws bulged with ten ounces of crazed, writhing chipmunk.

_Mmphh!?!?!?!_

_Dean_, Sam sighed, with that "I only put up with you because I'm related to you" tone. _Quit playing around. If you're going to eat him, then eat him. Stop torturing the poor thing._

_Mmmph -- mmphh ---_

The chipmunk was momentarily distracted by the sight of Sam in all his Pluto-like glory, and it loosened its viselike grip on Dean's mouth. That was all Dean needed – he spat the damn thing out and jumped back, sputtering. _Christo! Christo!_

_Dean, what the hell are you doing? _Sam took a step back

_It's possessed! Damn thing's possessed! It wanted me to eat him and it jumped in my mouth and---_

Sam smirked, a very unlikely expression on that comical looking face.

Dean's right paw itched. He wanted to smack that grin right off Sam's mug._ Dude, I'm not lying---_

At that point the chipmunk got up, all slimy and wet, and made a mad dash towards Dean. Again.

Dean squeaked before he could stop himself. He jumped up in the air and actually jumped _behind_ Sam. Well, see, he wasn't_ really_ hiding _behind_ Sam. Sam just happened to be in _front_ of Dean.

Sam put out one oversized paw and pressed the little critter down on the ground. At last those Bigfoot paws were good for_ something_. Sam grimaced as Dean's saliva got his fur wet. He turned to look at his brother.

Dean stared at the damn thing, wide-eyed. He looked pretty freaked out, no doubt about it, but he still looked…pretty. _Photogenic bastard_, Sam thought.

_Dean, he's a chipmunk. You're two hundred times his size anyway. You afraid of him?_

Dean bristled. _No!_

Sam frowned. _Then why are you hiding behind me?_

_I'm not hiding behind you. _Dean moved over to the side, lowered his head so he could get a good look, now that the damn thing was pinned down._ You got in front of me, that's all…_

Sam shook his head and rolled his eyes.

The chipmunk looked up at them and grinned.

_Call me Al,_ it squeaked nervously.

Dean growled at him.

_**Four**_

_Okay now, let me get this straight,_ Sam said slowly. _You made a deal with a demon to become some_ _high-pressure Wall Street executive._

_Uh huh_, Al said.

Al sat a few feet away from them. It was that whole "Suicide by Dean" bit that raised Dean's hackles. Dean sat right next to Sam and he stared at Al like he wanted to play hackey sack with his furry little striped ass across the wide Mississippi River and back again.

_Your ten years is up. You got turned into a wild chipmunk and now the demon's coming after you, _Sam concluded.

_Uh huh_, Al said.

Dean's eyes narrowed. _He's lying, Sam._

_And what makes you say that?_

_I - I don't know. Doesn't sound right. If the demon could turn him into a damn chipmunk why didn't it just drag his sorry ass down to hell in the first place?_

_Because it's called torment, Dean, _Sam said smugly, his head slightly tilted to one side_. It's what they do. _

Dean shook that ruggedly handsome head of his._ I'm not buying it. A chipmunk? Come on!_

_You got any better ideas?_

_Yeah. We ditch the squirrel and hook up with Dad._

_He's not a squirrel, he's a chipmunk. And anyway, Dean, we can't leave him._

Dean laughed._ Yeah, we can._

_Aren't we supposed to be helping people?_

Dean cocked his head to one side, made a flapping gesture towards Al with his right front paw.

_He's not people._

_In case you haven't noticed, bro, we aren't either._

_We're higher up on the food chain than he is, dude._

_Well, before you go, _Al said cautiously_, Could you do me a favor?_

Dean looked wary. His brow furrowed._ Like…what?_

Al jumped up and tried to leap into Dean's mouth. Dean got to his feet so quickly that Al missed the mark and went splat, spreadeagled against Dean's deep heroic chest instead. He dug his little chipmunk fingers into Dean's fur and Dean growled, deep in his throat.

_Get off me, you freak! God, what the hell is the matter with you! _Dean shook himself roughly from head to toe. Al went flying off in the opposite direction.

_I…I just wanted to have a good life, for once, _Al stammered as he lay flat on his back. He sat up._ Money, power, fame, women…_

Sam shook his head._ I mean…were you really happy like that?_

Dean snorted._ Sammy, didn't you say you wanted to be a lawyer when you grew up?_

Sam ignored his idiot older brother. Dean walked around slowly in a circle and tried to catch the tip of his tail with his mouth.

_You…you didn't piss off a witch, _Sam said slowly.

Al frowned._ No. I don't think so._

_Well, you had to piss off somebody._

_Sam_, Dean said warningly. Sam looked up and Dean's hackles were standing straight up. His tail was bushed out and from the tone of his voice Sam knew it was going to be bad.

Then he looked past Dean, and Sam knew right then and there that bad didn't even begin to cover _this_.

_**Five**_

John held the catnip mouse between his front paws and buried his nose in it.

He tried not to drool, but he couldn't help himself.

He inhaled. Deeply.

He didn't do drugs. Never had, even while serving with the Marines in 'Nam. He taught his boys to stay away from drugs, except for painkillers when they were injured. He drank occasionally, but he didn't smoke.

But _this_…it was heaven.

_Pure heaven_, he thought as he rabbit kicked the damn mouse again.

_**Six**_

"Come on, Al," and the voice was silky smooth and gave Dean the shivers just hearing it. "Time to stop running."

Dean stared. The woman standing in the clearing had on a skintight black dress and a pair of stiletto black heels that reminded Dean of his tenth grade home room teacher, Mrs. Bassett. Sometimes Dean would stay after school and they would --- well, never mind. That's another story for another time, thank you very much.

The woman was hot. Damn hot. Chick looked just like Angelina Jolie. Well, Angelina Jolie with blood red eyes, but that wouldn't count in the dark, or if he was kissing her with his eyes closed.

Hell, the blood red eyes didn't count, period.

I mean, come on! Angelina Jolie!

Damn, the one time he runs into a really hot demon chick and he's not even in the right body.

Life sucked big time right then.

Dean didn't care much for the critter that was crouched down in front of her. It was three times as big as he was, black as night and ugly as sin, with yellow teeth and huge red eyes. That sucker could hump the hell out of your leg. Seriously.

Dean backed up, put himself between Al, Sammy, the demon chick, and DemonFido. He kept glancing back, at Al, then the demoness, and it suddenly clicked. There was a crossroads not too far from the highway, and it made sense to him, no matter what Sam said.

_Wait a minute, _Dean thought slowly_. You made a deal. With him. _He jerked his head in Al's direction. Al squeaked and hid behind Sam._ You made him a human for ten years. He's a chipmunk. What the hell kind of crossroads demon are you?_

"Well, well." She slinked on over and stood in front of Dean with one hand on her hip. "Brains and beauty all in one gorgeous package." She nodded towards Sam, and she lowered her voice, but Sam still heard her. "Who's your ugly friend?"

Sam bristled.

"He's my geek brother."

"_Your brother_?" She looked back and forth, from Dean to Sam. She frowned. "How the hell did that—" Dean leaned back and quirked one furry eyebrow at her.

_Long story._

"Oh. Sorry."

_And you were going to tell us about this when? _Sam thought at Al reproachfully. He was feeling ornery right about now. Al tried to burrow up against Sam's side and nearly fell over when Sam moved away, pointedly.

"Well, I can see we've got some things to discuss, handsome," she purred at Dean. She turned and looked at the hellhound. "Azaereth, take five."

The hellhound shrugged its shoulders and gave Dean an evil look as it slunk by him. Dean squared his shoulders, lifted his tail high and gave it the death glare right back. He looked damned handsome while he did it, too.

The hellhound came over and sat down next to Sam. It looked him up and down, from head to toe, and then leaned over and said out loud in a surprisingly cultured female voice: "Have you given any thought to making Satan your personal lord and savior?"

_Oh, shit, _Sam groaned.

**Seven**

_You didn't think they were gonna laugh at you when you showed up with him? _It was amazing the range of expression Dean got out of that furry face of his. Right now he was trying not to stare at her in disbelief, because it suddenly occurred to him that the hot demon chick just wasn't very bright.

Duh.

_Hey, look, you were young, just starting out. Why don't you just chalk this up to experience and let the poor schmuck go?_

She gnawed nervously at the tip of one bright red fingernail._ So what if I do that? You're not gonna tell anyone?_

_Hey, my lips are sealed, _Dean said, earnestly. He stuck his chest out, and his ears went up another fraction. He looked the part of the movie perfect All-American hero dog. _You can trust me, Miss. I'm here to help. _

Besides, who the hell would even _believe_ this crap?

"Well, let's seal the deal then ---" She put one hand beneath his jaw and raised his head. She leaned down to kiss him.

Dean jumped back quickly._ Hey! Hey! Bestiality --- that's a line we don't cross, all right?_

At least, not in this fic.

She looked awfully hot when she pouted. She put her hands on her hips._ You're a dog. You're supposed to be woman's best friend, too. You're kind of a prude, darling._

Dean reared back. He looked_ extremely_ offended. _I am not!_

She morphed into Lassie. _How's this? _She blinked coquettishly at him. Damn, her eyelashes were almost as long as his were.

"Ye-aahh." Dean knew he sounded like a moron, but right at that very moment he didn't care.

Dean Jr. didn't give a damn either.

Sam rolled his eyes. _Why don't you three get a room?_

The hellhound sulked over by one of the trees. She was pissed because Sam wouldn't share his deli sandwich with her. Among other things_. Dean gets the hot chick and I'm stuck with the hellhound who does recruitment for the Greater Church of Satan on the side?_ Sam thought darkly. _What am I, chopped liver? _

Al pressed himself so deeply into the side of Sam's thigh Sam was pretty sure there was something indecent about the whole thing.

Dean and "Lassie" sealed the deal behind the fallen tree trunk. Well, an hour later they'd sealed the deal a couple of times by then, but neither one of them was complaining.

_You sure took your time,_ she murmured as she licked Dean's face, and he grinned.

_I always like to read whatever I'm signing_.

_I bet you do. Okay. Here's the deal: Al will get to live out the natural lifespan of a wild chipmunk, whatever the hell that is, the way he was intended to. _

_Okay. How do I know I can trust you?_

She shrugged._ Like you said, I'd be a laughing stock if I showed up with a chipmunk's soul. Well, handsome, you can sure handle yourself in that body, but I bet you'd like to be human again. Why don't we make a deal. I could give you ten good years up top._

_No thanks. _Dean backed up.

_Okay. Call me. _

_Uh huh. _He didn't intend to.

She sniggered. She knew he would, in about two years or so.

Al didn't detach himself from Sam's side until both the hot demon chick and the hellhound shimmered away into the bright afternoon air. _Figures_, Sam grumbled to himself_. Dean gets laid, and I get groped by some damned chipmunk. I think I'll need some therapy after this. _

Al stood between the two of them and jumped up and down excitedly._ Oh, damn, I don't know how I can thank you!_

Dean lowered his head and stared at him. He lifted one side of his lip over those bright white sharp teeth of his. _Just. Go._

Sam and Dean sat side by side and watched Al scurry across the road. He wasn't really paying attention to the traffic around him, and Dean didn't think that was such a good idea. Apparently Sam didn't either, because he stood up and had just opened his mouth when Al paused, turned around to wave at them again---

--and got nailed by an eighteen wheeler.

_Splat._

Dean closed his eyes and flinched.

Sam lunged forward. Dean body blocked him.

_Sammy. Let it go…_

_But, Dean…_

_You look like Mickey Mouse's dog, not Superman's, dude_. Dean looked over at the highway and all he could see was a grease spot on the pavement.He winced a little as a dump trunk and several cars rolled over the grease spot.

_Al's gone. And I'm not gonna let you get splattered out there. I don't know what the natural lifespan of a wild chipmunk is, but with ten years as a human on top of whatever it was, Al was apparently way past his expiration date. It's the culling of the herd, Sammy. We can't save 'em all. Let it go._

They turned away and walked back into the woods, side by side. Dean put his head down and quickly picked up John's trail. He shifted into a fast, easy trot, and Sam moved right alongside him.

Pick up Dad's tuna fish sandwich and catch up with Dad. Should be easy, right? By nightfall Sam really hoped they could just find a vacant cabin or some place to hole up in. He was getting positively fucking sick of the Great Outdoors already, and they were still quite a ways out from Bobby Singer's place.

GreatOutdoors? Yeah, _right_.

_Well, at least Al's gone to the Rainbow Bridge, _Sam said quietly. He glanced back at the highway, and Dean gave him a gentle nudge forward.

_Rainbow Bridge? _Dean's heroic brow furrowed. _What the hell is that?_

_Animal Heaven._

_No shit? You made that up._

_No, I didn't._

_Yeah, you so did._

_No, I didn't. Which means that when you die and go to heaven, Dean, Mrs. Patterson's pet cat Mr. Tinkles will be waiting for you._

Dean grinned wolfishly._ Which is why I'm going to take my pistol with me when I go to heaven. Good-bye Mr. Tinkles. Again._

_You can't do that!_

_Yes, I can, _Dean thought simply._ It's Heaven and God wants me to be happy. I have my gun, I'm happy. I can see it now, Sammy: Gunfire breaks out on the Rainbow Bridge…_

_TBC_

Next up: John has a mid-life crisis, Sam gets even moodier, and Dean suffers a psychotic break.


	3. Chapter 3: Ditched

**Homeward Bound: The Further Incredible Adventures of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto**

**Chapter 3: Ditched**

Spoilers: None that I can think of.

Characters: Dean, Sam and John Winchester; Marlon, Sonny, Various Other Characters

Pairings: John/OFC

Timeline: pre-Pilot. Yes, this is the _**real**_ reason Sam left for Stanford in the first place.

Summary: To paraphrase Kim Manners on the Supernatural DVD, "If they were dogs, Jensen (Dean) would be Rin Tin Tin, and Jared (Sam) would be Pluto."

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural, The Godfather, or Doctor Doolittle (Eddie Murphy). If I did rest assured I would not go to this accursed day job of mine every darn day.

Yeah, I said it.

Warnings: cursing (language, Dean, language); big bosomed women and Fancy Feast cat food; drug use: catnip. Bestiality? Depends on the eye of the beholder.

A/N: I do apologize for the delay in posting this. One of my cats, Angel, became ill from cancer and despite our best efforts to save her, died a week ago. During the three weeks she was sick I devoted as much time to her care as I could, and when I did write it was dark. Couldn't get myself in the right mood to write something light and funny like this.

Anyway, knowing Angel (AKA "Squeaky") the way I do, I figure she would not want me to mope around for _too_ long. She was nine years old, and she acted like she was nine months old. She was a Turkish Angora and just as mischievous and intelligent as can be. She tried to mother everyone in the house; otherwise, she spent her time pulling pranks on everybody. Nobody could top her when she decided to declare a Prank War. I could watch her and easily imagine John, Dean and Sam as animals.

Well, the show _must_ go on.

Angel, this one's for _you_, sweetie.

Also, I do not mean to offend raccoons or any other animal species by implying that they are involved in organized crime. This is a work of fiction and should be regarded as such.

Gee, I was actually able to type that with a straight face. Hee-hee-hee!

I have** no** shame.

Much love to each and every one of you who have reviewed so far!

>

_**One**_

John sat by the kitchen door and meowed. Loudly. He cocked his head to one side, cleared his throat and did it again. He could hear water running in the bathtub down the hallway. The woman hummed to herself as she moved around in the bedroom. He didn't see a litter box in the house, and that was just fine by him. As soon as she opened the door and let him out in the yard, he'd be up and over the fence before she knew what had happened.

And the hell of it was, after all this time, he_ still_ didn't know her name. Not that he could've _asked_ her, of course.

It was time to go back. Time to hook up with the boys, and continue on to Bobby Singer's place. John felt a little bad about ditching Sam and Dean in the first place, but what was done was done, and there was no sense crying about it.

He wasn't too crazy about the questions he knew Sam would ask, namely _Where the hell have you been, Dad?_ but he _knew_ Dean wouldn't ask any. Dean would figure that if John disappeared temporarily it was to evade some sort of enemy, then backtrack and make his way back to them.

Dean wouldn't even consider the possibility that for the past six hours John had been getting his fur stroked, and his brain cells blown.

_A man has needs,_ John thought to himself. Never mind that right here, right now, he had four legs and was covered in black fur.

Hunting fuglies and keeping an eye on two rambunctious youngsters (and John didn't care that by this time Dean was wearing light stubble on his jaw and had killed countless fuglies, didn't care that Sam had that growth spurt that made him look like Sasquatch – they were _still_ kids,_ his_ kids, damn it) none of that left a lot of time for anything else.

John took sex where he could find it. And for the last six months, at least, he couldn't find it, damn it.

This was something his boys definitely did _not_ need to know about.

Especially Sam.

He was brought back to reality by the soft sound of bare feet on the tile floor. When he looked up his heart damn near skidded to a full stop.

She was naked. Totally naked. Not a stitch on.

_Holy. Shit._

He tried not to stare up at her bug-eyed, but with that pushed in Persian face it was kind of hard not to. She picked him up, hugged him to her more than ample chest, all warm, and ….bouncy…and soft…and pliable…

John started kneading her bosom with his paws (C_laws in, stupid!_ he thought to himself. _Claws in! If I scratch her she won't let me __**do**__ this anymore!_) and she smiled at him.

The things cats got away with. This life _did_ have its perks…

Those nimble fingers of hers started moving, underneath his chin, down his chest…..

John closed his eyes, tried so hard _not_ to drool (but he did, couldn't help himself) and kneaded empty air. He didn't even notice.

A moment they were up to their necks in catnip-scented bubbles and warm water.

Her fingers kept right on moving, all over him, and John knew that cats were supposed to hate water, and John didn't give a damn.

_**Two**_

First, they couldn't find Dad's tuna fish sandwich.

_Where is it?_ Dean stood there in the clearing, ears pricked alertly, his tail curled over his back. He sniffed around looking puzzled.

_It was right over there. I don't know where it is now_, Sam thought rather testily. He sat down and raised his hind leg to scratch at a particularly itchy spot on his neck, just below his left ear.

Dean smirked. _You didn't eat it, did you? Shared it with your girlfriend the hellhound?_

_I mean, it's okay if you did --- _He actually considered that Sam was crabby because he wasn't getting enough to eat, but Sam totally took it the wrong way.

_No, I didn't. _Sam narrowed his eyes. Dean would've looked intense and somewhat menacing if he'd done that. Sam just looked like he was squinting in the sunlight. _That's not funny, Dean._

_Okay, okay, just kiddin', Samantha. _Dean turned towards the highway, and Sam felt that pit in his stomach grow. _No problem, I'll just get Dad another one._

Sam's shoulders visibly drooped and Dean caught it. His ears stood straight up as he swung back around. Dean's tail dropped slightly and his thought voice held a low note of concern. _Geez, Sammy, you feelin' all right?_

_I'm okay, _Sam mumbled.Translation:_ Hell. No. Not okay._

_I mean, you like tuna too? I can go more often if you're not gettin' enough to eat, being a growing boy and all._

Sam shook his head slowly, his long black floppy ears moving from side to side_. Dean, _Sam thought slowly,_ I don't think you should put yourself at risk like that all the time. For food. I mean, Dad's a cat now._

_What? _Dean scowled._ Just what are you tryin' to say, Sam?_

_I mean, cats hunt…things… _

His brother looked _horrified_.Dean reared back, ears straight up. His mouth gaped open, and he stared at Sam like Sam had lost his friggin' mind.

_Well, it was just a suggestion_, Sam thought-muttered sullenly.

_Dude, what…what kind of crack are you__** on**_ _Are you sayin' that Dad should catch mice? __**Eat**__ mice? Is that what you're sayin', Sam?_

_Well…yeah._

_Not on __**my**__ watch. _Dean bristled. Sam could see that stubborn mask settle down over his brother's face. His brother's heroic, spectacularly handsome German shepherd face.

Dean stared at him intently, and for the first time in his life Sam actually felt a little afraid of him. Dean was solid muscle, and in addition to being a full grown German Shepherd dog, with his training he was lethal.

Hell, Dean could've been locked away inside a Pomeranian's body, and he still would have been pure trouble.

Dean's eyes narrowed, and he didn't look like he was squinting from the sunlight, he looked like he wanted to rip a sizable chunk out of Sam's goofy looking ass.

_You know what? _Dean's eyes flashed with anger._ I'm gettin' real sick of this attitude. We got dealt a crappy hand, Sam. You know that. That witch nailed us but good and now we got to make the best of it. Now if you have a better idea about how we can eat every day, I'd sure as hell like to hear it. What, you wanna eat twigs and berries now? Is that it?_

Dean took a step forward. He stuck his chest out and held his head and tail up high. He was an alpha male, and there was no mistaking it. A movie handsome, picture perfect alpha male to Sam's comical Pluto looking ass, and Sam could feel himself shrink a little all over.

He ducked his head and didn't say anything.

_What? No more bright ideas? _Dean bit the words out._ Okay then. I'm going to get more food. And I don't wanna hear any more bitchin' from you, Sam. _

_Fine_, Sam snapped, tossing his head defiantly. His long black floppy ears flapped all over the place.

_Fine, _Dean snapped back. He turned and stalked off, feeling more than a little pissed off.

For a moment there, just a moment, he felt like biting Sam. Felt like really ripping into him, and not stopping, either, until he had his younger brother yelping, until blood was drawn and flowing freely.

_Damn kid_, Dean thought to himself just as he reached the highway. _Gonna run me apeshit crazy someday._

Once he was across Dean ducked back behind the buildings in the strip mall. There was a Gulp 'N' Go over in this section, one that he hadn't hit yet. They had sliding automatic doors. Quick in and out, just the way he liked it.

Halfway down he felt his hackles rise. He glanced around nervously just as the lid to a nearby dumpster raised up and several pairs of beady black eyes stared out at him.

_Hsst…hey…hey, kid!_

Dean stopped. A deep low growl rose up in his chest, and his tail bushed out.

_C'mere._

The dumpster lid was pushed open from the inside, banged against the wall, and several raccoons climbed out onto the rim of the dumpster.

Dean glanced back behind him, once, quickly. He saw parked cars and trucks. No humans anywhere. Nothing but raccoons.

If this was an ambush, it was a pretty half-assed one.

The one in the middle must have been the one in charge. That voice inside Dean's head was a low silky rumble,_ very_ familiar. _I want to make you an offer you cannot refuse._

Dean stared in disbelief._ No shit? Look, Don Corleone, I already turned down that crossroads demon. Exactly what part of 'no' didn't she get?_

_Crossroads demon?_ The raccoon frowned, folded its arms over its chest in a slow, dignified manner. _You have mistaken me for someone else._ _I am here on behalf of my family. We could use a bright, talented young canine like you._

_Yeah, right, I bet they could,_ Dean scoffed. _Well, you get the same answer she did: Not only no, but hell no. Already got a family. _He peered up at the dumpster, and now that he took a moment to stop and really look, the mouthy one actually _did_ resemble Marlon Brando from "The Godfather": receding hairline, jowls, stocky, pot-bellied, a thin distinguished mustache under that sharp muzzle.

_Don't be so sure about that, pup. I understand your little brother is aggravating the hell out of you, am I right? He's gotten very critical of you and your family's lifestyle. He doesn't appreciate your considerable efforts on his behalf. And your father...you haven't seen him around lately, have you?_

Dean flattened his ears. Was he _that_ fucking obvious? _You don't know jack about me, my Dad, or my brother, bitch. _

One of the raccoons, a tall skinny number whose fur was curlier than the rest, bristled, and moved towards Dean, his dark little paws curled up into fists. He shook one fist at Dean.

_You show my father some freakin' respect, you damn fleabag. Watch your mouth, or I'll shut it for you. _

Dean grinned wolfishly. _Why don't ya come on down here, fuzzy, and show me exactly how it's done?_

Marlon cut his eye at the skinny one._ Santino... _

_But, Pop ---_

Marlon quirked an eyebrow at him, and Sonny promptly shut up.

Dean sat there frowning. An offer he couldn't refuse. A Marlon Brando sound-alike. A hothead raccoon named Santino. Sonny.

Only someone with a warped mind could think this crap up. He decided not to tell Sam about this. No use in having the kid thinking that Dean was stealing booze and lapping it up on the sly. He felt disoriented for a brief second and he shook his head to clear it.

_I meant no disrespect to your father, pup. Tell you what, I'll even throw you a bone, no pun intended. Your dad's at 4329 Hawkes Point Road. That's straight on the other side of the woods where you crossed the highway. Nice little piece of real estate with a green roof, white picket fence. You can't miss it._

_And even supposin' my Dad__** is**__ there, why the hell would you tell me? Why would you even friggin' care?_

_Just think of it as a token of our appreciation for your good work. Something to show you that we mean you no harm. _At the idea of _them_ meaning _him_ no harm, Dean yawned hugely, baring his teeth.

_Be seein' you around, pup. _

_Not if I see you first, chump_, Dean shot back.

Marlon might have been a trifle overweight, but the little bastard was surprisingly spry. He turned around and scrambled up the drainpipe, and the others followed him. Sonny turned and gave Dean the finger before he clambered up the pipe.

_Oh. Nice. _Dean licked his lips as he imagined biting the little furball on the ass. _Next time, bi'atch, _Dean thought. After he watched them disappear onto the roof, he shook his head again and loped down to the back of the corner building.

Damn, he felt like a magnet for weird 24/7 lately.

Dean turned the corner and slunk up to the doorway of the Gulp 'N' Go. The automatic doors slid open smoothly as he stepped on the pressure plate. His ears perked up, and he couldn't help but grin a little as he looked inside. He had a clear shot to the deli sandwich section.

_Yahtzee,_ Dean thought. This was going to be _cake_.

He stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the scruffy looking dude with the gun.

_**Three**_

Well, hell, it wasn't the _first_ time he'd taken a bath with a woman.

It was, however, the first time in his life he'd ever, _ever_ worn a collar.

A pink leather collar.

He was pretty sure she knew he was a boy, but for some reason he just didn't care.

As far as sex went, John considered himself to be pretty vanilla. None of that freaky stuff for him: whips, bondage, nope, not then, even when he was over in 'Nam. It was one of the things Mary Winchester had loved about him. He was solid, dependable. Conventional, even, but despite that, _never_ boring. He'd been that way all his life, and if you'd asked him before this whole mess started, he would have told you he wasn't about to change. Not ever.

Huh.

John whimpered and shuddered all over when she took out that long peacock feather and winked at him.

Never say never.

_**Four **_

Sam hovered nervously near the highway. He frowned up as his stomach churned nervously. He was too young to get an ulcer. He didn't know if dogs could even_ get_ ulcers. The way his luck was running he'd probably be the first one in history.

Twenty minutes later Dean hadn't made it back.

Sam got worried.

Ten minutes later cop cars came screeching up to a convenience store in that strip mall across the highway.

Still no Dean.

That pit in Sam's stomach got even bigger, even heavier. _Howdy, son,_ he could hear it saying cheerfully. _Guess we're roomies now. You'll be eating for two from now on, huh?_

Twenty minutes after that Dean came loping back across the highway, his mouth filled with food.

His eyes widened when he saw Sam, but he didn't say anything. Dean glanced back, saw some of the cops standing there watching him and Sam, and Dean headed up the hillside to a different part of the woods.

Sam followed him. _Dean, what the hell was that?_

Dean didn't answer until they'd gotten far into the woods. He stopped in this small clearing they'd never been in before and he opened his mouth, put the paper wrapped food carefully down on the ground. He turned back in the direction of the highway and stood there, eyes narrowed, his tail waving slightly back and forth behind him. He was tense, seemed to be waiting for something, or someone, and Sam didn't move until Dean did, didn't relax until Dean visibly relaxed and sat down on his haunches, yawning.

_Dean,_ Sam repeated. _What happened down there?_

Dean shrugged. _Eh. Some jackass with a toy gun. Tried to rob the place. I backed the fool into a corner, stayed there until the cops showed. Clerk's okay. Made sure he didn't hit her again. _He sounded preoccupied. He nodded, raised his right front paw towards the food. _Chicken or beef, Sammy? I got both. And Dad's tuna. _

Sam grabbed the chicken sandwich between his paws and dropped down on his belly. Hey, maybe he _was_ acting pissy because he hadn't had enough to eat. He wasn't hungry before, but now, well….

He sat there chewing and it suddenly dawned on him that Dean just sat there, his head slightly cocked to one side, a thoughtful look on his face. That large expressive plume of a tail of his was still for once.

_Whatssa matter?_ Sam knew he shouldn't talk with his mouth full, but table manners were for two leggers. Anyway, he could think-speak and eat at the same time.

This life did have _some_ perks, after all.

_Dean? _

_Feels like…like m' losing myself, bit by bit, _Dean thought slowly. It was more like he was talking to himself. Sam had the impression Dean had momentarily forgotten Sam could hear him. Sam raised his head and stared at his brother. His long floppy ears raised up slowly in surprise. He'd seen Dean in just about every conceivable mood, but this was new.

Dean glanced over and seemed to finally realize that Sam was thereDean's ears twitched slightly.

Sam knew he could ask his brother _What's wrong?_ all day long, and all he'd get in return was a smart ass answer, a snarky remark, a change of subject, or a _Hell yeah, Gilligan, I'm fine. Why you askin'? _

So that was why Sam was honestly shocked when Dean sighed deeply and replied, _When…when the cops came…I just sat there in the middle of a crowd of them and let one of 'em scratch me on my head and call me a good boy._

Sam's mouth was full of chicken breast, wheat bread, pickle relish and mayo. He stopped chewing. _So? You were just playin' a part._

Dean frowned. _No…no, I wasn't. When he scratched my head, it…it felt good, Sam._

So good it actually made Dean's left hind leg thump against the ground, but he'd_ never _tell Sam that.

Dean sighed._ I…I…liked it._

_Well, you liked it when Carol-Anne scratched your head._

Dean's lips curved into a slight smile at that fond memory._ That was different, Gilligan. She's a chick. This was a dude. A cop. _

_Well, you wanna talk about this? How you feelin'?_

_How am I feelin'? How am I…_Dean's eyes widened. _Oh shit, chick flick moment!_

He got to his feet and started walking aimlessly around the clearing. Sam watched him alertly. Like a fucking hawk he did, just waiting to pounce.

Dean shook his head from side to side and felt his tail swish back and forth, irritated, like it had a freakin' mind of its own. Dean_ hated_ talking about his feelings. He avoided those conversations like the plague when he had two legs, and now that he had four legs he _still_ couldn't get away from the damned things.

_What the hell, Sam? We gonna hug now? _Dean thought roughly.

Sam swallowed carefully._ Do you want to?_

_Hell, no! Finish that up. I wanna go find Dad. _

_Dean ---_

Dean turned and glared at him.

Sam bit off another piece of sandwich. The chicken suddenly tasted dry as a bone, and the bread was stale. Hadn't tasted like that before. Dean paced back and forth, head down, like a caged tiger, and he didn't eat, and Sam's friendly neighborhood ulcer-in-the-making got a little bigger, a little heavier.

_**Five**_

For a brief moment John thought about his boys. Sam and Dean were together, and since they were dogs, they'd be together for the rest of their lives.

Life was an ironic bitch. If they'd been human, Sam would be gone, he'd be outta there. Sam thought John didn't know that, but he did. He could tell from the way his youngest acted.

_One more year, and I'm gone, away from you, away from this whole fucking hunter's lifestyle that I didn't choose and never wanted. _

Dean would _never_ leave Sam's side. Never. He would protect his pain in the ass little brother from everything and everybody, with his last breath. They'd both be all right.

John knew he was fooling himself. Knew he was full of shit, just telling himself these things to justify what he was doing – scratch that – _not_ doing.

Things got a little hazy once he felt her fingers stroke his fur.

He never noticed the two dogs padding around the outside of the house. He didn't see when they both got up on their hind legs and stared into the house through the living room window. One looked like Rin Tin Tin and the other looked just like Pluto. They both had stunned, freaked out looks on their faces, but John didn't notice.

He stretched further out onto the couch, arched his back into her touch, and it was getting easier not to think about anything anymore.

_**Six**_

_Pop, we don't need him. I don't know why you'd even approach that mutt ---_

Marlon's paw flashed out and slapped Sonny across the face. Sonny stared in shock.

_You will never again interrupt me while I am conducting business, especially in front of the others. Do I make myself clear, Santino?_

Sonny's shoulders sagged._ Yes, Papa._

_All right. To fight in the coming war, we need muscle. Something fast, fierce, strong, and clever, something the Two Toes clan is not expecting. This Winchester pup is exactly what we need. We can use his family against him either way. The old crone told us all about him and his father and brother. If he thinks his family has deserted him, no longer wants him, needs him, we can take him in, keep him as an ally._

Sonny snickered._ Keep him as a pet? Make him wear a collar and leash?_

Marlon shrugged._ Pet. Ally. Whatever. _He ruffled the top of Sonny's head affectionately, and Sonny squirmed happily under the touch. _I prefer to think of him as a weapon, Santino, but whatever makes you happy, my boy._

_**Seven**_

Dean looked left, then right. He wouldn't look at Sam, he couldn't. He stared miserably at the ground._ Uh…there was a good reason for what we just saw. _He sounded hoarse. _Dad couldn't --- he couldn't get away._

_Couldn't get away? Couldn't get away? _Sam felt weirded out, even more than he'd ever felt before. They padded away from the house, back up the hill.

Once they reached the top of the hill Dean turned around and sat there staring at the house, shoulders slumped, trying to make some sense of what he'd just seen. His eyes were dull, sunken, and those huge ears of his flopped down despondently.

_I don't believe it_. Dean's tail drooped miserably. _Dad ditched us. He ditched us._

_Yeah, all it took was an open can of Fancy Feast and he jumped right into that chick's arms,_ Sam thought dryly. He rolled over onto the grass and stretched out. The muscles of his back felt _really_ tight.

Dean snarled, a low fearsome rumble of sound deep in his throat. He bared his teeth and turned on his brother. He actually nipped Sam's right front foreleg, just hard enough to bruise.

_Hey! What the hell is wrong with you? Dean?_ Sam backed up, and as quickly as the attack had begun, Dean stopped. He looked dazed. He flopped loosely down on the ground. His eyes were wild, haunted.

_Maybe, maybe I should have moved a little faster. I – I should've tried to steal that six pack of beer at the 7-11 over near the I-9. Yeah, that's it. Dad wanted that beef taco, and I went for the vegetarian burrito instead. Stupid, stupid, stupid! _Dean banged his head against the ground.

Three times.

Sam's eyes got really wide

_I didn't follow orders. Dad left because I wasn't good enough…_Dean muttered. He had this really weird look in his eyes, and he kept repeating himself, over and over again.

On a scale from one to ten, Sam's score on the freak-out meter was a solid twenty.

And climbing.

_**Eight**_

Down in the house below John Winchester frowned a little as her fingers hesitated, then stopped. He raised his head, quirked an eyebrow and shot her a look that plainly said,

_I didn't say you could stop_ and then he froze, ears pricked as he heard this god-awful howling.

She frowned as she turned and looked out the window, and when John jumped up on the back of the couch she absentmindedly ran her fingers through his fur.

He shuddered as a wave of pleasure swept over him, but that didn't stop him from looking up at the hill.

John stared. There in the moonlight stood a fine figure of a German shepherd, head tilted back, howling out his grief to the world. Another dog, a skinny goofy looking one with long floppy black ears, sat nearby, a worried look on its comical looking face.

They both seemed awfully familiar, but John couldn't remember their names to save his life.

>

Next up: Dean ends up on Doggie Death Row, Sam confronts John, secrets are revealed, and the Winchesters are caught up in the war between the furballs.


	4. Chapter 4: Dead Dog Walking

Well, here it is, the fourth installment of this little crackfest.

Pop culture references:

"It was a shame what they did to that dog." - taken from "Coming to America" (Eddie Murphy)

Fibanaci – The last name of Peter Strothmire's mob boss character in the tv show "Prison Break".

"What we have heah is failure to communicate." – Strother Martin - "Cool Hand Luke"

**Homeward Bound: The Further Incredible Adventures of Rin Tin Tin and Pluto**

_**Chapter 4 Dead Dog Walking**_

_**One**_

AAAAAAARRRRRROOOOOOOOO----

_Dean? _

AAAAAAARRRRROOOOO----

_Dean!_

AAAAAAARR---

_Dude!_ Sam hissed. _Will you shut the hell up!_

_Huh? _Dean lowered his head and blinked those impossibly long eyelashes of his once. Twice. Slowly. He stared dazedly at Sam as if he were really seeing him for the first time in a while.

_Jeez, dude. Emo much?_

_What?_ Dean's ears came up and he cocked his head to one side.

Sam stared at him, frowning._ You were sitting there howlin' your freakin' head off!_

_Was not._

_Was too._

_I don't emo. _Dean scoffed._ That's what__** you**__ do, Samantha. Dean _stuck his chest out and his tail waved lanquidly behind him like a flag. _Dean Winchester doesn't cry like a chick. _

_Dean Winchester might not, but Deanna Winchester was up here bawlin' like a baby. _Sam frowned as he leaned forward. His eyes narrowed._ You really don't remember?_

_No. _Dean sounded smug. "You're the one who's crazy, _**not**_ me" kind of smug.

_Do you remember biting __**me**?_

_Biting you? _Dean's eyes widened slightly. He stared warily at Sam and shook his head in disbelief. It's not good when the crazy person –ah, dog – thinks that _you're_ the one that's crazy.

_I think I'd remember that, Sammy. _Dean licked his chops wolfishly._ You probably taste like chicken._

_Wait a minute. You don't remember anything you did in the last fifteen minutes?_

_Nothing to remember. Dean shrugged. Didn't __**do**__ anything._

_Uh-huh. Oh-kay then. Where's Dad?_

Dean stood up, stared intently down at the house. _Dad's in that house at the bottom of the hill._

_That's right. _

Dean padded over towards the edge of the downward slope.

_Dean, what are you gonna do?_

_Bust through a window and get him out, _Dean replied, as though Sam were four years old again and Dean was explaining why eating dirt and mud was such a_ bad_ idea.

Sam felt his right front paw itch with the urge to slap his idiot older brother upside his head._ And what if Dad doesn't want to come, Dean? What are you gonna do then?_

Dean looked confused. _Why the hell would he want to stay with** her**_? He jerked his head towards the house, then turned back towards Sam, frowning._ You okay, Sammy? Seriously. You're actin' kinda weird there, buddy boy._

_**I'm**__ acting kinda weird?_

_Yeah, you are. _Dean brightened considerably as he looked down the hill. _I'm gonna break into that house and get Dad out. And I'm gonna bite that bitch on the ass for keepin' him locked up in there._

_Break into the house and bite the bitch on the…That's your solution to nearly everything, isn't it?_

Dean quirked an eyebrow at him._ Why, yes. Yes it is. Why so surprised, Sam?_

_Yep. Sounds like a plan, _Sam murmured sarcastically._ Dude, there is something seriously wrong with you._

_Whatever. _Dean shook himself, from head to toe, and as Sam watched he went into stealth mode. Head down, tail lowered, Rin Tin Tin was looking mighty _shifty_. _You comin' or not? _

Dean slunk forward a couple of steps, then stopped and stared down at the street below.

_Holy crap._

_Now what? _Sam padded over and stood next to his brother, just in time to see the county dogcatcher's truck pull up onto the street and park two houses down from the house Dad was in.

_Five oh, dude. What the hell are they doin' here this time of night?_

Sam cocked his head to one side, raised an eyebrow, and just pointedly stared at him.

_Duh._

_Oh. Well. That…howlin' thing you claim I did. _Dean sat down, raised his right front paw and waved it in a dismissive manner. _I still don't remember doin' it, _he muttered defensively,_ and if I don't remember, then it didn't happen. _

_The sheer brilliance of your logic just amazes the hell out of me. I'm speechless._

Dean smirked._ Well, you should be._

Sam shook his head in disbelief._ Now what?_

_I'll get 'em to chase me. You go in and get Dad._

_Go in and get Dad? How ---_

Dean sighed as he stood up._ Forgotten, you have, everything I ever taught you, young Jedi. You break a window, and you enter. _

_Break a---Dean, no hands, remember? _

_It's not breaking and entering unless you actually break something, Sammy,_ Dean called back as he moved off down the hill. He actually sounded pretty happy.

_**Two**_

Freddie "The Mask" Nicoletti sat in the Two Toes raccoon clan larder at the base of the old oak tree, next to that big metal bucket they'd found somewhere. He was taking inventory, one of the few pleasures he had left in life. He was looking forward to going through that woman's purse one of the made kits had found down by the highway. He could always find something shiny in one'a those things.

The last time he snagged a pair of earrings, and a make-up mirror. He looked absolutely stunning wearing the earrings (they were clip-on, and shiny, with large green stones dangling at the ends, so he kept them), but the lipstick was the wrong color on him and tasted nasty besides.

This was something he kept from the others. Yeah, he had a secret life. So what? Long as it didn't interfere with the family business, wasn't nobody's business _but_ his.

He frowned, shook his head as he heard the shuffling at the door. He knew who that was.

Tony "Two Toes" Fibanaci.

Ever since Tony lost those toes on his left foot during that skirmish back in the day, he'd lost a step. Since then Tony more than made up for that. In the beginning he'd been a wide-eyed, kinda naïve made kit, but that changed soon enough. Couple of years ago they raided that beer distributorship warehouse, and Freddie remembered the place was guarded by a dog, a Doberman. At the time Tony carried around with him a small wooden baseball bat with a lead weight in the tip.

Freddie shuddered. It was a shame what Tony did to that dog.

Freddie could tell Tony was in a mellow mood by the way he strolled in. Nice and easy, a slight roll to his gait, like he had all the time in the world.

_So. What'cha got? _Freddie drawled.

_Don Tucci's clan is out of the war._ Tony said gravely. He always enjoyed giving exposition, and if that floated his boat, what the hell, Freddie was more than willing to indulge him. _Fish and Wildlife was kind enough to thin out the ranks, as it were, but we still have to deal with Marlon and Sonny. Rumor has it they've acquired a weapon._

_That ain't what I heard. I heard they already approached the mutt. _

_And?_

_He said no._

_All right then. No worries, then._

_No worries, my ass. _Freddie's eyes narrowed._ We should whack this canine anyway. Remove the threat. Level the playing field. Help the pup buy the farm. Stop his clock. Send him to Doggie Heaven---_

_Whoa, stop! What's with the freakin' clichés, Freddie? You been watchin' Jeopardy again? Those stupid game shows will rot your brain._ Tony scented the air, and made a face. The air inside the larder was unbelievably foul, but since Tony had sinus problems, it took a while for it to catch up with him. _Wait a minute. What's that __**stench**__? Where the hell is Donnie?_

Freddie looked sorrowful. _He sleeps with the fishes, Don Fibanaci._

_They whacked Donnie? _Tony's eyes widened._ Crap. _Donnie was his sister's kid, the lazy bum, and man, was his mama gonna be_ pissed_.

_When the hell did** that** happen?_ Tony said, frowning.

Freddie rolled his eyes, leaned back and kicked the side of the bucket twice, hard.

Donnie groggily stuck his head out of the top, a rotting fish head perched on his head, right between his ears. A skeleton fish tail hung out of one side of his mouth, and a long string of slobber hung down from the other corner of his mouth. He looked around groggily, saw Tony and smiled lazily at him.

Tony shuddered. _Ugh. Never mind. _Then his eyes narrowed with a mean glint and he grinned crookedly.

_C'mere. _He crooked a finger at Donnie._ I wanna hug you. You know you're my favorite nephew, don't cha?_

_I don't wanna. I'm your only nephew. _Donnie drew back fearfully. He was suddenly wide awake._ You're gonna hit me._

_No, I'm not. C'mere… _Tony smiled insincerely as he opened his arms. Freddie shook his head in disbelief when Donnie fell for it and climbed out of the bucket. Half eaten fish heads went everywhere. Donnie padded over to Tony with his arms open, ready to hug---

And got whacked smartly upside the head for his trouble.

_You know, _Tony said smugly, as Donnie rubbed his aching head,_ you really oughta follow your first instinct sometimes_.

**Three**

Dean slunk around the corner of the house so silently that the men didn't notice him. He slipped in behind some bushes and crouched low. One of the neighbors was standing there in a plaid bathrobe and slippers, and the dude was pointing up at the hill as he talked to a tall lanky dude wearing a dark grey uniform, holding a pole with a noose on the end of it.

Dean didn't need any more visual clues to know that he was dealing with an overworked, underpaid municipal flunky who was pissed off that he had a job that required him to be on call 24/7.

It was showtime.

Dean strolled out of the bushes, and barked once. Both men turned around at the noise. If Lassie had done it, it would have been "Timmy's fallen down the well, come follow me." The way Dean did it, it was more like "Catch me if you can, bitch."

Dean was damned if he was going to start whining, and even though he didn't harbor any personal animosity toward Roddy McDowell (he liked the dude in "Fright Night" – a stupidly good vamp flick) Dean didn't care if McDowell's character ever got out of that well.

Or was that Timmy, that careless little blond kid that was always falling down mine shafts and into holes?

Sometimes Dean got them confused.

"Cujo" was more Dean's style. "Man's Best Friend," another killer dog out on a rampage flick, was another. That was Dean's story and he was sticking to it.

Lassie was all right, but she was a _girl_, for cripes' sake, and those Lassie movies were all chick flicks. Dean would have died and gone straight to hell before he admitted he ever sat down and watched "Lassie Come Home" or any of those others.

Well, he did, sometimes. When he was by himself, and Sam was out doing research at the library (Dean didn't watch porn_ all_ the time, you know. "Old Yeller" was another dog flick he _didn't_ watch. Yeah, right). He always had the television on when he was cooped up in the motel room or the cabin alone and Dean was cleaning weapons or taking inventory of supplies, and it was just noise in the background while he did the important stuff, which meant that it didn't count. So there.

And if Dean's eyes misted up a little as Lassie painfully dragged herself out of that river and tried to make it home, well, hell, _that_ didn't count, _either_.

Dean barked at them, backed up a little, and barked at them again. His tail swished back and forth (in a manly, heroic way, of course), and he could tell by Lanky Dude's body language that the fool was going for it.

Lanky Dude's eyes narrowed, and his hands twitched around the handle of that noose on a pole, and when he took a swipe at Dean with the pole Dean dodged it so easily he almost felt embarrassed for the dude. Grinning wolfishly, Dean took off past Lanky Dude and ran off down the street, in the opposite direction, away from Sam and the hillside. The trick now was to give Sammy enough time to get into the house and get Dad out.

_**Four**_

_It's not breaking and entering unless you actually break something, Sammy. _

Sam thought that was the dumbest thing he'd ever heard Dean say. He felt the hackles on his neck raise up as he crept around the corner of the green house with the white picket fence.

_I don't have any hands, Dean,_ Sam grumbled to himself. _How the hell am I going to commit B & E if I don't have any hands? Trespassing doesn't require any hands, breaking and entering does…_

Maybe he could push one of the windows up with his nose or head or something. Sam put his head down as he slunk past the back door, and he stopped, frowning. The scents around here were awfully familiar, and it wasn't just Dad's scent, either. There was something…the inside of Sam's nose started to prickle. That female scent was one he'd smelled…_sensed_ before. Sam stood there with his back to the door, and he raised those floppy ears of his and tilted his head slightly to one side.

He heard the door open up with a click behind him, and as he leaped away (his body wasn't quite as nimble as Dean's was, but he could move fast enough when he wanted to) Sam felt something cold and clammy grab his entire body and yank him backwards into the house.

He blacked out when he slammed into something solid behind him.

_**Five**_

_Damn, what a moron,_ Dean thought to himself. That fat convenience store clerk was a faster runner. Dean glanced back over his shoulder and chuffed, and when he turned back around he nearly tripped over his own feet as he skidded to a complete stop.

The cop that skritched his head in the Gulp 'N' Go stood in the middle of the street. Dean stared. Just how the hell did that sumbitch _do_ that?

The cop smiled at him, knelt and put one hand out. "C'mere, boy. You remember me, don't you?"

_Hell yeah I do_, Dean thought to himself. He whined. He didn't mean to, and damn he hated how he sounded, all weak and needy. He wanted to go over, wanted to lay down at the cop's feet, roll over and let the guy rub his belly.

_I'm losing my fucking mind_, Dean thought to himself, and he backed up, and when he did the cop's gaze slid past Dean behind him, and that's when Dean sensed somebody else behind him. He swung around, a snarl rising up in his throat, and he saw something coming at him. It was fast, but he was faster, and he dodged, turned to the side, felt fingers brush his flanks, try to grab his tail.

Something sharp thunked into his right shoulder, and that stopped Dean right in his tracks.

_Damn…I feel…really…really…weird,_ Dean thought, and he sat back heavily on his haunches.

He swayed from side to side. He could barely keep his eyes open. A shadow fell over him from behind, and another came from the side.

His head bobbled and dipped. He looked down and saw this feather sticking out of his right shoulder.

_Son of a…bitch…I've… been…tranked, _Dean thought dully. The shadow standing in front of him leaned down and put its hand underneath his jaw, slowly lifted his chin up.

"Wait a minute," the shadow slurred. Everything slowed down to a crawl. "Beau's gonna do hard time because _this_ mutt stopped him at the Gulp 'N' Go?"

"Told that fool not to do it. Third strike," one of the other shadows said.

Dean stared, swayed from side to side. The shadow divided itself, into two at first, then four, then six. There was this sparkly stuff in the air all around, like Tinkerbell had just shaken off a large amount of that damn fairy dust.

_I can see time, _Dean thought hazily. Then he wondered what Tinkerbell looked like naked under that costume.

Then he wondered why he was wondering that.

"This is the one."

"Company's got a reward out for him?"

"Fifteen hundred."

"Well, we could use the money, but I really don't feel like doing this mutt any favors. I'm feelin' kind of mean tonight, boys, and this pup's luck has just about run out."

One of the shadows laughed. "Sure you're right."

…_good drugs…M'a good dog…_Dean thought to himself, and when the shadow pulled its hand away Dean face-planted into the pavement….

_**Six**_

"Sam? Oh, Sammy? Wake up, dear."

Sam came to wedged up in the corner against the kitchen cabinets. He shook his head to clear it, and he growled at the woman sitting at the kitchen table. One minute he was out, the next he was fully awake. She laughed as he lifted his head and scented the air. His eyes widened.

The illusion she'd cast over herself went slip sliding away. Her skin now had a greenish tingle to it, and her fingers were unnaturally long. Her hair was greenish grey, and some of it moved, all on its own.

_It hurts my eyes to look at the bitch,_ Sam thought.

Sam usually didn't call women bitches. Not usually. That was something he was kind of a prude about, and anyway, Dean could always come up with more colorful word combinations than Sam ever could. Dean could cuss fluidly enough for the both of them.

Sam didn't usually call women bitches, but in this one's case, he'd make an exception.

_You lousy bitch…_

"Language, young man, language," the witch said smugly. She held John the black Persian cat in her arms, ran her long fingers lanquidly through his fur, and John stretched and purred under her touch.

Sam stared. The great John Winchester, reduced to wearing a pink (PINK! Sam's mind screamed at him) leather collar. And was that perfume he smelled in his father's fur? Sam shook his head. He was_ so_ glad Dean hadn't come, couldn't see_ this_.

_Dad?_

John looked at Sam, puzzled. _Do…do I know you?_

"Your dad's been with me all this time," the witch said. "Turning the three of you into animals was only the beginning, little boy. The great white hunter John Winchester is going to be my pet for the next ten years, at least. And your big brother, Dean? Oh yes, those demons were certainly right. Your big brother _is_ like a puppy. He's _so_ much fun to play with. What, Sammy? You didn't enjoy seeing Dean go emo up on that hill? _I_ made him do that. Got him in touch with his inner bitch, you might say. He was so cute sharing and caring."

She stroked John underneath his chin, and Sam almost closed his eyes. Dad closed his eyes and purred like a buzzsaw, drool hanging down his chin. _Yeech._ This was about as bad as walking in on your parents having sex.

"That just leaves you, little _boy_. Little goofy looking boy," she spat at him, and Sam felt his hackles rise. A low growl vibrated his throat. "I've decided to make the torment of your family the focus of my life for the next ten years."

Sam stared at her. _What is it with you bitches and ten years?_ Dean would've been proud of him for that, he thought.

She shrugged. "All right. You've just become my mission in life. My life's work."

Sam flinched. _Way to go, Sammy,_ he could hear Dean grumble. _Antagonize the witch bitch even more, why don't you?_

_**Seven**_

_Dry dog food is fine, Boss, but I want some of what you're havin', _Rumsfeld thought. He nosed his now empty food bowl and sighed heavily. Dramatically. He was a damn big dog so he made damn big gestures. He closed his eyes, lifted his head slightly and inhaled slowly. Bobby was having steak tonight. Steak, for cripes' sake, and all he'd gotten so far was three scoops of that dry dog food. His usual.

_Stuff tastes okay,_ Rumsfeld grumbled, _but damn, couldn't a fella get hooked up with some table scraps or somethin'?_

_Aw, man. _He could practically taste the pepper, the salt, the butter sizzling at the bottom of the pan, and when Bobby put the steak into the skillet Rumsfeld practically groaned out loud.

He used the pitiful, hollow-eyed stare.

Bobby ignored him.

Rumsfeld sunk his chest in, tried to look as small as he could.

Nothing.

_Fine. Be that damn way then, you sumbitch. _Rumsfeld sighed heavily and laid down on the floor next to the bowl.

_Another twenty something hours until the next bowl of the same old crap, _he thought sourly._ Damn. _

So he liked to eat. So what? He was a big dog, with a big appetite.

Sometimes Bobby indulged him. Sometimes. He liked to keep his dogs happy, and if that meant spoiling them sometimes, then okay.

It didn't do to get _too_ fat or _too_ lazy in this line of work.

Some of the hunters who dropped by weren't as immune to Rumsfeld's sorrowful soulful looks, so if he liked them, he practiced on them.

Like those Winchester humans. He liked them. A lot. The daddy, John, could be talking to Bobby and Rumsfeld could walk over to him, lean up against him, and before you knew it, John's right hand would drop down and he'd absent-mindedly start skritching Rumsfeld under his left ear, hit that spot exactly that made him grin. Rumsfeld would tilt his head back, close his eyes, and raise his right front leg up.

He didn't get spoiled very often, but when the chance came up, Rumsfeld took it. Every single time. Life was too short _not_ to. And the boys, Sam and Dean, well, they slipped him food every chance they got. Just a few pieces of meat here, half a hamburger there, not_ too_ much, out of respect to Bobby, but hey, that made it even sweeter.

Other times Dean would give Rumsfeld a two-handed bellyrub that would make the big dog's toes curl. _Kid has some major league talented nimble fingers,_ Rumsfeld thought. The younger kid, Sam, was no slouch either, but he was quieter, preferring to go after the sweet spot just underneath Rumsfeld's chin.

Rumsfeld could even forgive Dean for that time when the eldest slipped him some fried okra.

"Dude," the younger one said. "He's not gonna eat _that_."

"Betcha he does," Dean replied as he tore open the contents of the greasy brown paper bag. They'd gotten the damn things in a takeout order by mistake. "Betcha ten bucks he scarfs it down in under a minute." He laid the bag on the floor in front of Rumsfeld and stepped back.

Sam grinned as he checked his watch. "You're on, Deanna."

Took thirty seven seconds exactly before Rumsfeld realized he was eating fried rabbit food. It was the chicken grease they'd fried it in that suckered him in.

_Damn vegetables. _

_Ugh. _

_Damn kids._

So when Bobby's phone rang and Rumsfeld heard the phrase "John and his boys" during the conversation, Rumsfeld made it his business to get up, pad over and flop down on the worn tile floor at Bobby's feet.

"Hey, Bobby."

"Hey, Arvin. You hear anything about John and his boys?"

"Yeah. Earl Kent down at the impound yard over in Evanston said he's got their car, that black Impala with Kansas plates."

"But you haven't heard anything about the three of 'em?"

"Nope. Nothin'."

"It's been over three weeks, and hell, I haven't heard anything from any of 'em. Something's wrong."

"What were they huntin'?"

"A witch."

"Oh, shit. Sounds like she mighta got 'em."

"You hear anything about some crone operating over your way, Arvin?"

"Well, yeah. Some old hag came into town about three weeks ago causing all kinds of a ruckus. Killed a couple of the townspeople right on the spot. Turned 'em inside out. I heard some other crazy stuff, too. They say she turned a few of the civilians into animals while she was at it. Naturally, the so-called proper authorities covered the whole thing up."

"Sounds like the fugly John and his boys were after. Anything else strange going on out your way?"

"Yeah, now that you mention it. There's this dog going up and down the interstate stealing food. German Shepherd. Fast, sneaky. Real handsome looking dog. At first they thought somebody trained him to steal, but now they're not so sure. He stopped a robbery over in Ogdenville, and the cops are looking for him. Convenience store association's put a bounty on his head, too. My kinda dog."

"Just the _one_ dog?"

"They say he's traveling with another dog, a real ugly mutt. You believe that?"

"Yeah. Yeah, I do. Keep an eye out for me, Arvin. You got my cell." Rumsfeld raised up to a sitting position and Bobby stroked the big dog's neck, then scratched that spot right underneath the dog's ear. Rumsfeld grinned like a maniac.

"Call me back if you hear anything else. I'm gonna call Earl and tell him if he sells that Impala I'm going to skin his hide. With one'a my dull hunting knives. Think it's time for me and Rumsfeld to take ride down the interstate tomorrow."

"You don't think…damn!"

"Yeah, Arvin. _Damn._"

_**Eight**_

_Hey, fresh meat!_

_Nobody knows the trouble I've seen…nobody knows my sorrow…_

_Over here, pretty boy! I wanna have your puppies, oh-kay?_

_Dead dog walkin'…_

They held him up as he stumbled along down the aisle, and Dean didn't like that part so much. He was a good dog, they'd told him so, and he tried so hard to be. He couldn't understand why he was there in the first place. He missed Sammy. He missed his Dad. And his Mom.

When they finally stopped he laid out on the floor with a grateful sigh. The world went away for a while, and when it came back he felt something lick the side of his face, again and again.

Long, smooth strokes that hit all the right spots. Dean kept his eyes closed, stayed stretched out on his side. It wasn't a sexual thing, not exactly, more like a…a _puppy_ thing. More like being comforted by the person who brought you into the world, the one who loves you the most.

_M-mom?_

_You pretty._

Dean frowned up. Funny, he didn't remember Mom's voice being so…damned…deep…

And what the hell was the deal with all the slobber?

_You so pretty._

_Son of a bitch! _Dean opened his eyes just in time to see a huge slobbery tongue right in his face.

_Shit. Shit Shit!_

It was that damn mastiff mix from Jim-Bob's dog pen. Dean backpedaled and the tongue curled and uncurled on empty air.

_What the hell? Are you following me now?_

The mastiff stared at Dean with hollow, sunken eyes.

_I wish…I knew…how to quit you…_

_Oh hell no. Dude, we're not doin' the canine version of Brokeback Mountain. I am __**not**__ the one._ Dean got to his feet and snarled as he backed away.

_You could be,_ the mastiff said hopefully.

The other dogs down the row were making noise, calling out, doing anything to relieve the boredom of being locked in for the night…

_Swing low, sweet chariot, comin' forth to carry me home…_

_Shut the hell up, you damn basset hound! Tryin' to sleep over here---_

_I'll make you my bitch and name you Lassie, boyo---_

…_What we have heah is failure to communicate…_

Dean glared his fiercest Winchester death glare, showed those sharp white teeth of his, promising pain and agony and more pain on top of that, and the mastiff finally gave up and went over to another corner.

Dean sat there growling at him. And why the hell did some people think he was bi-sexual, anyway? Dean backed into the far corner and laid there with his eyes open. The basset down the row started singing "Amazing Grace" in a low sorrowful baritone that would have made Dr. Phil depressed and suicidal.

It was gonna be a long, unpleasant night.

Dean fought the urge to go into a fetal position and start whimpering like a damn puppy.

_I am soo screwed. _


	5. Ch5:Lethe At The Bottom Of A Water Bowl

_**Disclaimer:**_ I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

* * *

_**Chapter 5 – lethe at the bottom of a water bowl**_

_**One**_

"Dad?" Sam called out softly. "Dad!"

Nothing. No reaction.

Sam sat down miserably on the kitchen floor. He had on a collar now, and he was chained to this hook set into the wall right next to the back door. He felt weak now, had been every since she'd frozen him in place with a gesture and slipped the brown leather collar around his neck. It was obvious she'd cast a spell on it. Sam tried pulling at the chain, and all he succeeded in doing was scuffing up the floor when his nails skidded on the linoleum. The bitch wasn't going to be happy about that.

Sam didn't give a damn.

His stomach rumbled. His throat was so dry it hurt. There was a light blue Drinkwell Water Fountain a few feet away, and the sound of the motor and the water stream falling into the bowl was almost hypnotic. He could easily reach it if he wanted to, and that was the whole point.

_Come on over here, you sweet little pup. Take a drink._

He was _so_ damn thirsty.

_You know you wanna…_

Sam flattened his ears. _Won't listen to it. I won't._ He put his back to the fountain, flopped down on the floor as far as the chain would allow, and curled into a ball.

His stomach rumbled again. _Bet one of those deli sandwiches Dean stole would go pretty good right about now, huh, kid?_

_Shut up._

_Turkey swiss?_

_I said shut the hell up._

_Fine_, Sam's stomach rumbled sullenly. _No need to be rude._

The water in the bowl was bewitched. Sam saw the way Dad's eyes went funny every time he came in and drank from that damn fountain, but that didn't stop him from trying to talk to his father each time he saw him.

Dad the black Persian cat padded into the kitchen.

Sam heard him before he even saw him, and he scrambled to his feet, despite himself, his long thin tail wagging with excitement. The third time was the charm. _Dad heard him. Dad was here. He'd help him out of that damn collar, he'd ---_

John didn't even glance at Sam. He walked over and very daintily pushed his flat little face into the bowl of the water fountain, just like he had twice before, and lapped up water slowly and carefully.

Sam scowled, but it did no good. His bitchface, translated into canine, had lost a step or two. He was just so darn cute.

The tip of Dad's long black tail flicked back and forth, lazily. When he finished Dad lifted his face up out of the bowl and stood there blinking and licking his lips. His pupils widened to black marbles, and then back down to slits.

"It's me, Dad. It's Sam."

Dad yawned. "I told you before, I don't know you."

"We were turned into dogs. I mean, me and Dean were, He looks like RinTinTin. I look like Pluto."

Dad snickered. The cat considered Sam for a long moment. "RinTinTin and Pluto, huh? You're funny."

"I'm _what_?"

"You're a dog. A d-o-g. I'm a cat. C-a-t. I don't have any sons." Dad shook his head. "I used to have funny thoughts. I don't anymore. Only thing that matters now is her and this house. I'm never going to leave. I don't want to. And neither will you."

"Wh-what?"

"She likes you, uh, Sam, is it?" Dad looked thoughtful. "Funny name for a dog." He shook himself all over. That long thick black fur of his bushed out over his bright pink collar. "She'll put your head right. You'll see. You're confused."

"Dad, that witch did something to you. She made you forget. We were hunting her ---"

The cat's eyes narrowed. "Don't talk about her like that. She has a name. Circe."

Sam froze. "Circe? Circe?"

_Crap. Crap!_

The Dad cat chuckled. "And my name's not Dad."

Sam's shoulders sagged. His ears drooped. He knew what was coming next. Oh, the humanity…

"My name's Fuzzybuns Snicklepants." Dad cat said proudly, and he held his tail held high as he pranced out of the kitchen.

_**Two**_

Dean smelled pot.

He wrinkled his nose, sneezed nosily and then inhaled again.

_Yep._

Pot equaled potheads, which equaled gullible. He could use a pair of gullible human hands right now.

The tip of his thick plume of a tail wagged a little as he got up. The mastiff was sprawled on his back in a far corner. Dean took another sniff as he walked towards the gate of the cage. He tried not to inhale too deeply this time, what with his enhanced sense of smell and all. He needed a clear head for this.

One of the dogs down the row barked. _What we have heah…is failure…to communicate._

"Be quiet, lil' doggie" and then the person doing the ssshing giggled madly.

Dean prickled his ears, cocked his head to one side alertly. They were headed his way. Dumbasses really were trying to be sneaky with it, and it was an epic fail. Two humans, both male, late teens, early twenties. One dark haired, the other blond. Dean smelled pot and potato chips, popcorn and hamburger grease. Apparently they'd had the munchies before they decided to do B&E (Breaking and Entering).

Sight unseen, Dean christened them Bill and Ted. They were having an Excellent Adventure.

The mastiff rolled over onto his stomach with a groan. He blinked at Dean and then stared at him sadly. _Unbelievable._ Bastard still thought they were a couple, huh?

_Hell no. _

The footsteps were coming closer.

"No…no…not that one," Bill whispered. "Looks like an overgrown rat."

The Chihuahua/Yorkie mix took offense. The dog yipped back, _I got yer overgrown rat right here, you hairless monkey,_ but of course they couldn't understand him.

"Dude, I don't see anything I like…" Bill sounded confused.

Dean sat down directly in front of the gate. He sat up straight, stuck his chest out and held his head up proudly, ears pricked.

Two pairs of worn blue jeans, and dingy tennis shoes shuffled into view. Black band tee shirts, one AC/DC, the other Metallica. Dean didn't even blink. Yep. Bill and Ted. The nose knows.

"Dude! Lookit that dog!" Ted squeaked as he pointed at Dean.

_Yahtzee,_ Dean thought. He sat up even straighter and gave them the full Hollywood handsome heroic pose.

Bill gawped at him. "Damn! He looks like Superman's dog or something."

_High and stupid,_ Dean thought. He grinned a little. _I like it!_

If the marijuana smell was strong before, they practically reeked of it now. Dean held his breath. _Come on, dumbasses, come on…_

"Dude," Ted said loudly, "you bring Allie a dog like this one, she'll forgive your ass for running over her dog in the driveway!"

Bill's hands twitched around the rope he held in his hands. "The hell with Allie." He looked Dean up and down. "We could go hunting with this mother up in the hills. He looks like he could take down a bear!"

Dean intensified the pose. _Come on, get the door._ _Open the damn door…_

Ted stared at Dean. "Chicks love dogs. I mean, look at him. He'd be a friggin' chick magnet at that dog park down the street from your house!"

Dean grinned wolfishly. _That's right. I got your magnet right here. Every chick needs some Dean in her life. _

The mastiff got to its feet with a growly huff. Dean turned around and gave it the glare of Death. _Fuck this up for me and I will end you. _

The mastiff sat right down.

Dean turned back to the gate and cocked his head to one side.

"Get him, get him! He's a good one!"

_Listen to Ted, Bill,_ Dean thought. _The red-eyed pothead speaks truth._

Bill was wavering, and Dean could feel it. This was taking too damn long. The other dogs were waking up, alerted now to the presence of strange humans in the building after hours.

_You humans don't wanna deal with that pup,_ that mouthy little terrier down the row sang out. _He's trouble!_

It was time to pull out the big guns.

Dean raised his right paw, leaned forward and very daintily put it on the steel mesh of the gate.

"Dude? D'ya see that?" Ted gushed. "He wants to come. _He picked us_!"

A second or so later the gate was open and Dean once again found himself on the good side of the gate. One more door between him and the outside world. He made the mistake of letting out the breath he'd been holding in all along, and when he breathed in again he felt light-headed from all the pot fumes.

_Whoa._ He blinked. _Damn. I feel…good._

He swayed slightly as Bill and Ted patted him up from head to toe.

_Something I need to do when I get out of here, _Dean thought hazily._ Oh. Oh! Find Dad and Sam. Right. Right._

He wanted to bolt, but he still needed them to open the door for him, so he stood quietly between the two idiots and waited. And waited. They stared at each other wide-eyed with these big goofy grins on their faces, like they just couldn't believe their luck.

_Oh for cryin' out loud._ Dean rolled his eyes. He opened his jaws, took the loop of rope in Bill's hands in his teeth, and started tugging at it, hard. Dean backed up, inched his way down towards the back exit door at the end of the hall. _Come on, move it along._ _Sometime this year would be nice…_

"What it is, boy? You wanna show us something, is that it?" Bill whispered, wide-eyed.

_Dude, you have seen way too many Lassie movies,_ Dean thought. He tugged harder.

"Man, I love this dog," Ted said in awe.

_Once we get outside I'm ditching your asses, junior, so enjoy the love while you can, _Dean thought. A few more backward steps, a few more hard tugs, and they were closer to the back door, closer to freedom. The mastiff came to the closed gate, sat down and stared at Dean sadly.

_See ya, wouldn't wanna be ya,_ Dean thought.

The other dogs were in full uproar by now.

_Aw, c'mon, pup, I take back all those mean things I said about ya. _

_I love you! Take me with you, pleaaaase?_

_Don't kiss his furry ass like that, dawg!_ another dog snapped. _He's busted. BUSTED!_

Dean's eyes widened. Maybe it was the fact that he was still a little light-headed from the pot fumes. Maybe it was because he was focused on Bill and Ted. At any rate, Dean didn't notice the kennel worker who stepped out from behind the corner, between him and the exit door, until his tail brushed against the dude's pant legs.

"Hey!" The man snarled at Bill and Ted. "What the hell do you two geniuses think you're doing?'

_**Three**_

Sam's stomach growled. _Feed me. Come on…feed me…_

Circe smiled as she walked into the kitchen. "Poor baby. I hear you," she said to Sam. "You hungry, huh?"

Sam stared at the wall. He wouldn't even turn around and look at her.

"Well, that's okay." She pulled that black and red flowered kimono closer around her body and opened the refrigerator. The glass jar in her hand was half full with something that looked like red meat mixed with herbs. She took a clear glass bowl from the overhead cabinets, a spoon from the drawers, and scooped out several big tablespoonfuls. "I've got something that you might like, Sam. It's a special blend."

_Fuck you,_ Sam thought.

Circe smiled again. "Is that any way to think? Your big brother taught you that, didn't he?"

Sam shook his head wearily. He just couldn't win.

Circe hummed a wordless tune as she slipped the bowl into the microwave. She set it for one minute exactly.

When the timer dinged Sam's nose alerted him that whatever was in the bowl was the most wonderful thing it had ever smelled.

It smelled like…like, well, doggy heaven. Red meat, and lots of it, warmed up just enough. The scent wafted through the air and it smelled so wonderful it made Sam's toes curl. Even though he kept his back to her and didn't turn around the tip of his tail started wagging, like he was already standing there with his nose stuck into the bowl.

He could feel it on his tongue. He could taste it.

Circe laughed as she set the bowl down next to the water fountain. "Fuzzybuns and I will leave the two of you alone. Take your time, Sammy."

Sam's stomach growled hard in response. In the next moment he was on his feet staring at the wall, and he couldn't remember standing up in the first place.

_**Four**_

Bill and Ted blinked. "Cyrus. Dude. You still owe us for that bowl of weed we sold you," Bill twitched. "We came to collect."

"I'm not paying you for _that_, you morons," Cyrus growled. "You think you can mosey on in here and pick any mutt you choose?"

Cyrus leaned down, hooked his fingers between Dean's plastic temporary collar and Dean's fur. Dean let go of the rope and lunged forward. Cyrus stumbled, off balance, as Dean scrambled madly between Bill's legs.

_Shit. Shit!_

Bill fell forward on top of Cyrus, who let go just as Dean literally climbed over Ted. Dean felt kinda bad about that as the dude hit the floor on his ass.

Well, not really.

The dogs in the kennels yipped and snarled.

_Don't let 'em catch ya, baby-bee!_

_Run you, sucker, run!_

Dean cursed to himself as he turned the corner and streaked down the hall. There was one way out, straight ahead, and that was past the reception counter. He didn't know if the doors were locked this time of night, had no way of knowing if there were other staff on duty.

The double doors were _there_, right in front of him. Forward momentum carried him past another open door on his left, and he thought he sensed a draft _(nightairopenairfreedom)_ coming from somewhere. Dean was moving too fast to stop himself.

Another man wearing a drab brown uniform stood in front of the doors. This dude had a baseball bat, and he grinned at Dean evilly."Batter up."

The blunt end of the bat brushed the tip end of Dean's right ear with the first swing. Dean went low, and since the man was standing wide-legged he figured, _what the hell._ Dean snaked his body between the man's legs, felt the pain when the bat came down hard on his hindquarters. He grunted, but instead of going down he turned in that space, reared up and around and sank his teeth into the fleshy part of the guy's ass.

Baseball Bat howled.

Dean shook his head from side to side. Ah, Christ, this tasted awful, but at least the moron dropped the bat. He pulled his mouth away, spat frantically to clear his mouth of brown lint and the taste of ass. His forepaws landed on the pressure plate of the double doors.

Nothing. Locked.

_Crap!_

Dean turned on a dime and charged back down the hall, right at Cyrus and Bill and Ted.

He was pumped up on pure adrenaline now, going purely on instinct. Dean's sense of smell fairly screamed at him _Hard left, dude, hard left_ and he ducked into the room without question, legs pumping as he climbed up the empty cages stacked against the wall. At the top was the same open window Bill and Ted used to climb in. There was no screen.

Dean barely had time to think as he lunged up at the opening.

Wide open spaces out there, Dad and Sam were out there.

Cyrus' fingers slid through Dean's fur from behind, finally gripped and pulled at the base of Dean's tail. Dean ignored the pain and jerked forward again. His front paws hit concrete, his hind legs scrambled madly as his back nails raked Cyrus' face. Another powerful lunge and Dean pulled clear, running flat out.

He was free.

_**Five **_

Sam stared down at the meat in the bowl. He stared at the fountain, at that cool, clear water.

He barely remembered gettting up. He couldn't remember walking over to the bowl.

_Just a little,_ he thought to himself. _Just a little water. Just a little food. I won't forget who I am if I take a little bit. Just a little. _

What could _that_ hurt?

His stomach was quiet now, as though it was holding its breath to see what he was going to do.

He closed his eyes and sniffed.

God, that smelled good. His mouth watered. There was something he'd lose if he ate any of this. Something…Sam couldn't remember what.

His stomach growled again. Gently.

Sam lowered his head and ate.

* * *

Next: Rumsfeld2 and Bobby on the road, and Dean gets an offer he can't refuse. Also, thank you Thru Terry's Eyes, for "Fuzzybuns Snicklepants."


End file.
